


Wrong Turn, Right Thread

by lishiyo



Category: Thai Actor RPF, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Gulf Kanawut is a precious cinnamon roll protect him forever, M/M, MewGulf AU, Red String of Fate, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a what-if au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lishiyo/pseuds/lishiyo
Summary: Fate, they often say, works in mysterious ways. Most of the time it's utter chaos - atoms bumping into each other, ships passing by in the night, texts we never send and strangers we never meet. And then sometimes you send the text; you say the words; you stumble into the right stranger. You get Mew being suggested to try for Tharn instead of P'San, and Mew and Gulf naming each other for their favorite of the co-star options, and the stars lining up like dominoes to become MewGulf. Good job fate.But what if that never happens? What if the stars have an off day, everyone sticks to the script a little too closely, and they never ask MG who they want?What if Mew gets P'San, instead of Tharn?21-year-old Gulf Kanawut is excited for his first real series. He's playing the hotheaded lead Type, and it'll be beside a famous co-star for Tharn, so he's sure he'll learn a lot. Pretending to be a shipped couple with him is a little awkward, and kissing is more of a struggle than he hoped, but he'll try his best. He's meant to be with Tharn, after all.It's just . . . why can't he stop thinking about the kind, handsome phi who plays P'San?In which destiny fucks up, and MewGulf have to fix it.
Relationships: Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong & Mild Suttinut Uengtrakul, Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat & Mild Suttinut Uengtrakul, Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 43
Kudos: 78





	1. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This plot bunny comes from a terrifying thought I had at 1am: what if Mew got the role he was actually going for — P'San — instead of Tharn? Because they never suggested he try out for Tharn instead, or if they never asked MewGulf who they wanted, or if the bad rumors Mew said as having cost him jobs before dissuaded them from giving him a lead role. . . that's the way it "should've" gone if everyone had just followed the script. But I was thinking, MEW was the one who reached out to Gulf from the start, when he was this shy, quiet rookie actor who himself often says he kept himself apart from everyone else. MEW was the one who wasn't daunted by Gulf's high walls, who was willing to put in the effort to take out those bricks one by one until there were none left (thairath interview: https://twitter.com/cutiegkms/status/1295945339719962625). MEW was the more experienced actor who showed him the ropes, the one who wants more than anything to protect his nong from an industry that he has described — from personal experience — as cold, a little careless with people. So even if Mew wasn't Tharn, I think that Gulf would still end up drawn to him. It might take more excuses to figure out how to spend time with each other, but I think in the end Gulf will still end up feeling that this is the one who will want "to protect me, absolutely". 
> 
> Throw in some angst — what if everyone's telling you this is your ship, but you can't shake off the feeling you were meant to be with someone else — and a metric ton of fluff and sap and some heavy UST and you have the basis of this fic. So warnings for some angst just by the nature of the premise, but it's very much a happy ending - this whole thing is basically my excuse to write some sweet/shy/soft Gulf for once since my other fics keep making him so stubborn and snarky 😂 I'm determined to baby him here (or rather, let Mew do it for me 😉).

***

He did okay. 

He really, really did okay.

"Breathe, Gulf," he mutters as he wipes his hands on his jeans. They're still clammy with adrenaline sweat but the rush of finishing his screen tests for the first day is finally starting to pass: he was so nervous in the morning he can barely remember what happened in the first test, but they keep calling him back and by the twelfth time he thinks he's sort of getting the hang of this. The director P'Tee even gave him an encouraging smile on Gulf's way out in the last one, saying something about Gulf seeming like a good match for Type. 

Type's the main character, and the one Gulf really wants. It's not just that he's one of the two leads, it's the fact that Gulf really, really _does_ think he'd be the perfect fit for Type. It's the fact that the first time he ever saw the description, he felt a flash of excitement, because it was almost like they were describing _him_ : _tall, dark, and handsome. A soccer fanatic. A hothead with a short temper, he's not easy to love, however behind his prickly walls there are also good qualities._

 _Good qualities_ , Gulf thinks as he peeks up at the room again, shoulders hunching a little. There are so many people here — over 80, the casting director announced at the start of the day. They all look slightly different with a whole range of hairstyles and builds but all of them are a variant on "young and good-looking". Gulf knows there are people out there who find him attractive, but he has no particular advantage there in this crowd. Everyone's strikingly handsome and hard to tell apart as they come and go out of the waiting room, fidgeting with their nametags, their hair, some of them striking up a chat with each other.

Gulf self-consciously touches his hair. He kinda feels like he overdid it with the product, like he's a little overdressed amidst everyone's t-shirts and casual tops, but it's too late now. 

Some of the other guys are even famous. There was one guy (one of the more high-profile candidates here, Gulf heard someone say) who came with a whole gaggle of giggling fangirls; Gulf watched him smile and sign things for them by the entrance with the ease of a practiced idol before ushering them away. There are still a few girls standing around the lounge now in their bookbags and booklets, like they're waiting for another celebrity appearance. 

Most of the other candidates seem less well-known, though Gulf's not sure if this is their first role too. A lot of them have brought someone with them though, whether a friend or a parent. Joking voices and the rustle of plastic 7-11 bags float in and out of the hallway as they make lunch groups and hustle for the microwave.

Gulf's gaze drops to his phone. His manager was supposed to drop by, but something came up at the last second.

But seeing Mae's words at the top of the screen — _susu na, son_ — fills him with a burst of warmth again. He taps open Line and types:

_I think it went ok, Mae_

— and adds a few dancing-panda stickers before switching to scroll a few news articles, not really reading them. Gulf still has two or three more screen tests to do before he can go home, but from what he can tell so far that could mean anywhere from 15 minutes to 4 hours. He's found a good corner, but he might be sitting here for a while.

It might be a while before he can go home. 

Gulf bites his lip.

It's a small flurry of commotion at the entrance that makes him look back up. The straggling fangirls from earlier seem very excited — they've spotted who they were waiting for, apparently, and they're huddled around him now with happy voices. From this distance Gulf can see a man with dyed-light hair and a sheepish smile on his face talking to them, rocking back and forth on his heels. He looks handsome in his oversized white top, probably another candidate. 

A late one, maybe. Gulf goes back to his phone, switching over to his email, tapping through them one by one. Most of them are casting call ads P'Berm forwards him. Gulf doesn't want to think about what happens if he doesn't get this role, but he knows he has to. After what happened with 2gether . . .

Gulf swallows. He doesn't know if he can handle being that crushed again. 

"Excuse me kha," a female voice says.

Gulf glances up, startled. Two of the fangirls he thinks he saw huddled around the man just earlier are smiling shyly at him. At his look, one of them thrusts her phone at him. 

"We were looking at you earlier," she says. "Um, can we ask for your name na kha? And is it ok if we get your instagram?"

Gulf does have an instagram, but it's just him and his team pics, it barely has any followers. He hides the flash of surprise by ducking his head into a wai and smiling politely at them. "Of course krub. My name is Gulf Kanawut, you can find me at at-gulfkanawut." And shows them how to spell it on his phone.

It ends up turning into a full-blown exchange. They tell him that they're fans of an actor called Mew Suppasit, and he is indeed a candidate, they were even the ones who encouraged him to audition, though him being late hopefully doesn't throw a wrench in things. Gulf doesn't know him, obviously, but wishes him luck. He ends up doing a whole video for them — "Hi, my name is Gulf Kanawut Traipaipattanapong, 21 years old, 185cm tall, third-year year uni student at KMUTT" — ending with the little finger-hearts P'Berm showed him how to make earlier.

It's the first time someone's really come up and talked to him here and by the time they go away seeming delighted, Gulf finds he has a smile on his face too. He's never thought about being remotely famous before (that's a pretty far leap for someone who hasn't had his first series yet) but he'd always assumed he'd be a little intimidated as an introvert. That wasn't too bad, though, and he's still a little amused about the encounter a while later as he's back on his phone, when he hears the deeper voice by his ear.

"Is it Khun Gulf krub?" 

"Krub," Gulf responds automatically, and realizes as he turns to his side that it's the guy who the fangirls were surrounding earlier, the one who came late.

The man's face is a little hard to read for a second, as if taken by surprise. Then it breaks into a light, almost-shy laugh. "Some of my fans said they were talking to you earlier! Number 64, they kept telling me. Thank you for indulging them krub, they were over the moon."

"It's my pleasure krub," Gulf says. Before adding hesitantly, "They seem very sweet. Your fans, I mean."

"They are." The man — _Mew Suppasit_ , Gulf thinks — says it with not a small amount of pride in his voice. Closer up it's easy to see how he really is so handsome, in this effortless, definitely-not-regular-person way — he has the symmetry and bone structure of a magazine cover model, but with a smile that looks too lively to belong on a page. No wonder he's an idol with his own fanclub.

Gulf shifts awkwardly in his seat, unsure of how to continue. He's not terribly good with small talk.

Luckily, the man doesn't seem daunted. He keeps going with his effortless smile, hands in his pockets, "So how was day one of auditions krub?" 

"I think it went okay," Gulf replies, shyly. He's not sure why he then confesses, "I'm not too experienced to be honest. It's my second-ever real audition. I think I had some trickiness at first with the scene but they let you repeat it a few times, so it's not too bad."

"Oh, that's good! Yeah, these can definitely be tricky, they like to pick a few of the more challenging scenes. So you get a better sense of the actor's limits, right?" Then the man's grin softens. "Second-ever audition? That's huge krub."

"Thanks," Gulf says, ducking his head. "I know it's silly to be so nervous of course, it's not like I'm a soldier in a battlefield —" 

"No way," the man says. "This?" With a gesture to the room. "This is always intimidating, you're _absolutely_ normal for feeling this way." A wry laugh as he pushes a hand through his hair. "I mean, I've done this a bunch of times and I still get nervous. Don't feel bad about it!" 

_*Absolutely* normal._ The words sink into Gulf's chest, give him a little tingle of warmth somewhere he didn't realize was yearning for it. Like the kind of space you didn't realize was empty until someone brushed it.

The man does seem a little older than Gulf. He gives Gulf a little bit of "phi" feeling, though Gulf wouldn't dare to presume. Gulf's about to thank him sincerely again when the casting room door opens and one of the assistants pokes her head out, calling out a number. The man exclaims, because that's his number apparently, and he goes off with a cheerful parting wave and a wish for Gulf's good luck. 

"Good luck too krub," Gulf murmurs quietly at his back.

He looks down, smiling. He'd been expecting this to be like the 2gether auditions, when he'd stood in the corner by himself the whole time, cold and uncomfortable and trying to practice the scene in his head over and over again, trying not to let the buzz of the other candidates and their parents and friends penetrate him. It's not that he was lonely, but . . . 

These things _are_ a little better with someone else there.

***

Day 2 is exhausting. They pick a harder scene, where Type is supposed to be making up to Tharn, but in the most Type-ish stubbornly-defying-affection-but-it's-all-leaking-out-now kind of way, and the next morning with Type scowling at everything but unable to hide an undeniable ray of cuteness at the same time. Gulf thinks he's good at the "annoyed and mulish" part, but acting like there's this unbearable well of longing for the other man that he's been suppressing deep down in the center of the storm inside him is hard with a stranger. 

Even harder with 20 of them. They're starting to all blur together in his head at this point, man after man that Gulf thrusts his face up close to and snaps at, before softening his eyes. They don't have much leeway with their bodies so he has to throw it into his eyes and his voice: be careful with the pace, give his words enough slowness to make clear their weight while making clear this is not normal for his impetuous character. He has to be a kitten in his anger and a tiger in his seriousness. Tharn, in turn, needs to accept him, but not easily; he's the romantic one, the one who already knows he loves Type, but shouldn't give in just because of a few sweet words. 

All of this is accomplished in a few lines of dialogue and facial expressions. There's a kiss, too, that they mime by closing their eyes and tilting their heads with a little motion forward, mimicking the gesture without having to touch. 

This is all new to him — Gulf's never been this close to so many guy's faces, much less pretended to kiss them — but he's proud of himself for getting through it without much shyness. If there's one thing he's good at, it's sinking in character. Type is bold, so Gulf is bold. Type is rude and shameless, so Gulf is rude and shameless. Type's body is very, very familiar with this man at this point, so Gulf — Gulf has to try to convey that too. 

They're nearly done now though, the casting director reassures him — just one more, fortunately for Gulf's tired feet. Gulf's flipping through the background notes P'Mame gave them (a summary of Tharn and Type's relationship up to that point, just the broad strokes to help them understand the emotions they're supposed to be holding better), when he hears the voice call out in the hallway.

"Khun Gulf!" It's Mew, looking very sharp in his elegant dark sweater and nametag, and Gulf waves at him with a small surprised smile. The day's been so packed that he hasn't seen him since yesterday, only a glimpse here and there in the hallways, but it kinda secretly pleases Gulf a little (just a little!) to see that the man remembered his name. 

"They're asking me to give Tharn a go," Mew says when he catches up to where Gulf's leaning by the casting room door. "I've only been meaning to audition for P'San this whole time, but it looks like P'Tee wants me to try out Tharn too. Hope this guy's interesting, do you think?"

"Ah, he's the main character actually —" Gulf starts, before realizing from the teasing smile that Mew's pulling his leg. 

"Shai. My fans told me that he's a good one. Complicated, but good."

Gulf is about to offer a little more background on him from P'Mame's pamphlet but then the door swings open, and Gulf suddenly realizes that the candidate he's about to do this last test with is Mew. 

Oh. 

_This will be fine_ , Gulf tells himself as they walk inside. He's not nervous at all that he'll disappoint the man. Gulf's done this 20 times already and this will be just — one — more. 

P'Mame and the casting director are still seated at the table, talking in busy voices when they walk in. P'Tee greets them with an affectionate wave and the offer of the script in his hand, the one Gulf's already memorized by this point so he turns it down, while Mew accepts and immediately starts reading it. With a jolt, Gulf realizes that Mew's already switched "on" — the smile is gone from his face and his gaze is sharp with concentration as he reads, like he's trying to grasp the whole of the character in one skim. 

It's . . . impressive. Gulf's seen actors who can do the switch in an instant, but now he realizes that Mew's seemed like such a charming, cheerful person the seriousness is blindsiding, less like the putting on of a suit than a silk cloth shrugged off to reveal steel. The man looks up a second later, directing a question to P'Tee about the tone here, whether it's with heat or with pain, and then nods at Gulf, checking if they're good to start. And it begins.

Mew leads.

"Did you really sleep with her?" Quiet, with his head turned aside.

"I couldn't do it, Tharn." Gulf lets the crack show in his voice, just the sliver of it where it refuses to go back below the surface. "Do you hear me? I can't sleep with women anymore."

The pause is dense with meaning, without even the sound of drawn breath. Mew keeps his head still, not looking at him. "Maybe you're just tired."

"No," Gulf says fiercely. "I'm not tired."

"Maybe you're just . . . not into her."

"I'm not interested in any women at all!"

"Maybe you'll find other men interesting." Now Mew lifts his eyes to him.

For a moment, Gulf is frozen. The dark wreck in the man's eyes, the uncertainty that laces through it: it's half hope, and half fear. The other Tharns had played it a little casually, a sulky suggestion, but Mew is going for the open wound. 

It takes effort to shake off. But Gulf thrusts his face to his, so close he feels the other man's audible intake of breath. "Do you want to die?" In Type's voice.

"I'm a man," he hears himself — hears Type — say. "I don't want to sleep with any other men." A measured beat. "I can only do it with you."

There's a tingling in Gulf's arm that's his fingers reflexively wanting to reach out and touch the other's chest, or his hand, or . . . or something, because it doesn't feel right not to touch at this moment. That's rude to a fellow actor though, so Gulf pulls himself back, lets the space open up, lets the sterile white fluorescent light rush in to fill it. 

"So . . . you are the only one I want to sleep with." He feels his voice roughen with something raw, something that should be hard because Gulf's never felt it before: heartbreak. But Type has, so Type is not lost. "Please forgive me. . . Please forgive me one more time." 

". . . Good boy," comes the answering murmur. Relief: it cascades through Gulf/Type. Slowly, beat by beat, like feeling one's way out in the dark by stepping one foot in front of the other, Mew says, very quietly: 

"You already know . . ."

Step.

"that I . . . " 

Step.

"can never be angry with you."

Step.

"So . . . you are mine now."

Gulf lifts up his head. Tharn may have given in, but Type's not finished: he's not the kind of person to let someone else have the last word. 

"It's you who are mine." Fiercely, wildly, defending territory. "Because I won't let you go again."

"You already know . . ." Mew's — _Tharn's_ — voice is a steady branch on still waters. He's holding a hand out with it, beckoning. Gulf finds it hard to look straight in his eyes, but he forces himself to, at the terrible gentleness in it. 

Like Gulf — like Type — is his everything.

". . . that I have always been yours."

This is the part where they're supposed to kiss. Gulf drops his eyes to Mew's mouth, not the bow-shaped pretty pinkness of a woman's but firm, masculine, set in a very male jaw with the ghost hint of end-of-day stubble but something in Gulf still thinks, _soft_ — and he's about to mime leaning in when Mew picks up the script.

And presses it to Gulf's mouth.

Gulf must make some sort of confused noise but then there's a gentle but strong pressure, an expanding warmth, right on top of his lips where the paper's touching him. Mew's mouth, touching his through the paper. 

Heat floods up Gulf's neck, surges to his ears. His pulse is a thundering herd. It's a wonder he doesn't stumble back, but when the paper lifts a moment later, he can't help but take an automatic step back, hand lifting up to his cheek. It comes away hot. 

Mew — _Tharn_ — gazes at him. 

Weird how a few inches can feel like nothing. Dark eyes flicker down Gulf's own, trace his nose, linger on his cheek for a moment as if brushing it with the back of his hand. Before coming to rest on his mouth. 

"Good job," P'Tee is saying when Gulf comes to.

***

"Number 64!" 

Gulf's head snaps up. P'Mame, waving a black composition notebook and hair a little frazzled and starting to come out of its ponytail, is coming at him so eagerly she's practically bouncing off the floor. 

"Gulf Kanawut! Number 64! Congratulations, you're in!" 

"I —" The sheer shock is only a second before it collapses into relief, and then joy. Gulf feels his face break out into a huge smile, one that's stuck between grinning and laughing as he gets up and bows into a wai, three, four times.

"It was unanimous na kha," P'Mame tells him with a beam, her words a little quick like she can't wait to get it out. "We all agreed that you're our best match for Type. P'Tee especially is delighted, he's had his eye on you from the start!" 

"Thank you all for believing in me krub," Gulf says, plastering his hands together again. His heart is skipping circles; he can't wait to tell Mae. "I'm really impressed with Type's character too. I can't wait to start working with everyone krub."

P'Mame tells him about the last bit of schedule for the day — a photoshoot, an interview, they'll start drafting up the press release — while Gulf nods and tries to pay attention, head still making daisies in cloud nine. It's only a little while later after P'Mame runs back out the room that Gulf realizes he'd forgotten to ask.

Who'd gotten Tharn?

***

"Oh, didn't you hear? It's that famous guy from _Four Moons_ , Jack Nontakorn. Probably not that surprising, he was def the highest-profile name here."

Oh.

Gulf's . . . Gulf's not sure why he's not more thrilled. _This is really good_ , he admonishes himself. The man is only a few years older than Gulf and a famous actor with a big series under his belt already, he's no doubt really talented and has a lot of things he can teach Gulf. P'Berm especially will be pleased: the fact that he's a big name will be perfect for their "ship", as his manager puts it (Gulf's still not sure how that works but he's been told to expect people will put them together like they're carrying the fantasy from the show to real life, and it helps if they already have a fanbase; it's a little weird to Gulf since he's straight and can't imagine himself in a relationship with a man, but he figures he can think of it as just another extension of acting, so more opportunities to practice). 

He was pretty good in the test too from what Gulf can remember, though most of the candidates have blended in Gulf's head and he can barely remember what the man looks like. There's still a bit of time before they have to do interviews so he walks to the cafe next door googling the man's name, and yes he is quite good-looking in the classic _lakorn_ actor kind of way, very smooth-skinned, well-built, with fashionable hair and eyes usually narrowed at something in the distance. Lots of shirtless pics that reveal impressive abs. He's a few inches shorter than Gulf, but most people are.

Gulf's still tracing his drama wiki when he gets back to the waiting lounge where the other candidates, the ones who weren't chosen, are starting to filter out. He ducks aside as their disappointed voices make their way out the hallway, a silent _good luck_ whispering in his head (that could so easily be Gulf, with 80+ people it really is luck of the draw, and Gulf — Gulf has a spirit house to be thanking and some merits to be making) when he rounds around the corner. And collides right into someone's chest.

Jack's chest.

It's like a bad dream, or the start of a bad romcom. Gulf watches in horror as a light brown, very visible coffee stain blossoms on the man's white dress shirt, and then feels it too: the warm wetness on his wrist and stomach. Looking down, there's a brown splatter all over his sleeves and the bottom of his shirt as well as blotches on the man's jeans. 

"Oh! Oh shoot, I'm so sorry — "

"Watch where you're going," the man says, frowning. Followed by an exasperated sigh as he gingerly pulls at his shirt, trying to see the scope of the damage. "Damn. This isn't going to work. I'm going to have to go get changed."

Gulf bows his head, feeling his ears flush. "I'm very sorry krub." His voice is small. 

He's just remembered — all of the main cast have to take photos in twenty minutes. How is this going to work? He doesn't have an extra shirt or jacket.

_Not even the first day yet, Gulf._

He watches as the man stalks off — he didn't even look at Gulf really, most likely didn't realize it was his new soon-to-be co-star; Gulf is sure he would've been more polite if he'd known. The bright clawed edge of shame still gnaws at his stomach though as Gulf turns around and strides to the bathroom. No choice now. 

Water. Water is good. Well, it's not doing much but diluting the stain to be honest, but maybe it'll look better after it dries. Gulf presses the damp paper towel in the thin white fabric as he holds it over the sink, rubbing vigorously at the blotch.

The water's running so he doesn't hear the door open. All of sudden though, there's steps coming up behind him. "Oh, what's wrong — " 

And a brush on his arm. Gulf startles, glancing up to see who it is. And stops.

Oh. It's Mew again. Surprise blooms all over his face for a second too, before his expression relaxes and he steps back, gesturing at Gulf's shirt. "Are you okay?"

"Krub," Gulf says, reflexively. Then shakes his head. "I spilled coffee all over my shirt, and I'm desperately trying to fix it now because we have a photoshoot in ten minutes."

"A photoshoot?" Then the realization hits, because Mew's eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a genuine smile. "So you got the part? Congratulations!"

"Shai. Thank you krub." Gulf tries to smile back at the pleased tone. He is happy, of course, though there is another part of him that's a little resistant at the thought of showing pleasure when the other person most likely did not get a part, but the anxiety over the counting-down clock is now tugging at him too insistently to elaborate. "I definitely feel very lucky to get it, there were many good candidates." 

_You helped a lot too_ , he thinks. There was something in that last test, something Gulf can't put a name or feeling to, but it really worked. It felt _alive._ Like his blood was singing, even if it didn't know what it was singing to. P'Tee would no doubt have noticed too. 

Anyone could've. You probably could've seen Gulf's cheeks from Mars. 

Mew cocks his head. 

"Here." Before Gulf can protest, he's lifting his sweater over his head. And then Gulf is staring at a breadth of bared collarbone and smooth skin; the ripple of hard, powerful shoulders. 

And biceps. Very nice biceps. 

Before Gulf has time to stammer anything out, because one does not see men stripping down to their tank tops in a public bathroom every day, Mew is throwing the sweater at him. It's soft and surprisingly not heavy, and still warm with body heat. 

"Use that one." An unreadable look passes over Mew's eyes before he smiles. "Don't worry about it."

*******

Gulf can't find him after the photoshoot. 

"Who are you looking for?" The casting assistant asks him, a nice girl with chunky glasses who helped Gulf figure out a pose for the individual shots. 

"His name's Mew Suppasit krub," Gulf explains. "He's the one who lent me this sweater. I need to return it."

"Ahh," the girl says, leaning back. A strange look crosses her face, like an uncomfortable thought has just flitted by her mind. "Khun Mew. Yes, he had a prior engagement so he had to leave."

Gulf tries to hide his disappointment. "Um. I'm . . . not sure how to get this sweater back to him then krub." Then the thought strikes him: "Maybe his contact info? Would it be possible to share his email?"

"Ahh don't worry about it kha," she says, touching her pen to her mouth. "In fact, you might be seeing him again soon. We're still working out some details, but it looks likely we'll be offering him the role of P'San."

"Oh!" 

P'San . . . does that mean Gulf will be seeing him again? Will they be working together? Even if it's a pretty minor role, that still means he'll be coming on set, right? 

Gulf's hand fists in the sweater.

"Well . . ." The assistant's mouth twists for a second before it releases into a sigh. There's an obvious beat of hesitation before she says, brows furrowing, "I have to mention something N'Gulf. Khun Mew, he . . . he has some bad rumors surrounding him."

"I don't know what the specifics of those are," she continues, "but I'd suggest that you keep caution around him. Especially since this is your first role and this industry . . . well, this industry can be tough."

"All of us just want you to have a good experience here," she says.

_. . . What?_

"I . . . I see," Gulf murmurs, not really hearing his own words. "Thank you krub."

He still feels a little strange when he finally steps out to leave. The muggy night air hits him before the lights do: Bangkok, restless, lurching into the night in bright colorful streaks of tuktuks and hawkers pushing past with their jangly carts. The city is awake, and so is Gulf.

He watches the street vendor for a moment, their brisk arms lit up in the white light of the cart.

It's just a job. Gulf doesn't have to — doesn't plan to — make friends on the job, anyways. It's a big, important step for his career, right, like P'Berm says it's getting your foot in the door that's the hard part. But he shouldn't make it too big a deal in his mind either. He's young and there'll be more series after this. 

There'll be many, many more series after this.

_You already know I have always been yours._

Gulf touches his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Comments/feedback are suuper appreciated!! I feel like my plot inspos are so bizarre and off-the-wall AU and can never figure out if anyone else would actually be into them 🥺 I'm also @kanawhut1 on Twitter if folks want to hit me up there - I post my fics on Twitter too, just out of curiosity with the Twitter format (it lends itself more to multimedia which is super cool imo).
> 
> \- This is deeply unedited so you're getting the product of me sobbing over my laptop at 2 am. Apologies in advance for the typos, run-ons, and the shameless dose of adverbs. Also, warnings for not knowing anything about how acting works or how they actually make these shows, this is about to be very made up 😂 If anyone has good resources I'd appreciate them 😍
> 
> \- I need to find the exact interview again but re: the rumors, Mew has mentioned enduring bad rumors in the industry that cost him jobs before 😢 so that's what I'm drawing on here. I'm *certain* those are because of you-know-who but I reeeally don't want to give him any airtime in my fic so let's pretend it's just some other unnamed asshole XD The reason I'm still including the mention is because that's one of the most poignant parts of their relationship to me, that Gulf — newbie actor Gulf, who has everything to lose here — refused to listen to gossip and only ever judged Mew on his own terms. Enough that he could declare, only three weeks after they first met, a statement like "Mew will protect me" with his whole damn heart 😭😭
> 
> \- In the same vein, HUGE disclaimer that I can't stress enough how utterly fictional this is. Some events are inspired by IRL ones (e.g. they really did do a scene from episode 6 in their screen test) but this series is like the demented twin of our world, everything plays out differently and is entirely a product of my overly-rampant imagination. I do NOT want to reflect any real event or person, at least as much as you can avoid it with RPF 😅 In particular, all of the staff except the ones I couldn't really avoid naming (P'Mame, P'Tee, P'Mild and some of the cast members) are fictional, the new Tharn is fictional, mentions of fangirls are fictional and so on. Please take this as a 100% FICTIONAL ROMANCE that happens to be inspired by some awesome real life celebrities.
> 
> \- Anyways MewGulf soulmates, wbk 🥰


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says it's important to make a good first impression. Everyone also says, don't judge a book by its cover. But both enter hard mode when you're shy, as Gulf only knows too well.
> 
> Maybe the hardest thing in the world is to see someone's real face.

The mug's a perfect fit if you use both hands.

It's round as a very fat bun and heavy enough that using just one's not hard, but a little uncomfortable. The surface is ceramic and smooth, but not as much as you think; there's a cat engraving on both sides, not just one, and a little coffee stain that looks like South America dribbling down a side. A few more dots speckle the inner rim like faint raindrops. If you look at it in sunlight, you notice that it isn't *really* white, more like eggshell. Or seagull poop.

"It smells . . ." Gulf closes his eyes, wrinkling his nose. ". . . it smells . . . like coffee?" 

Very creative. Much wow. To be honest, he doesn't have a great sense of smell. It's his worst sense for the sense memory exercise; he can barely recognize much less bring up on cue any scent besides mae's basil pork, which he already fantasizes about in his dreams so that's kinda cheating. Still, any practice is better than nothing.  _ You used to be good at this _ , Gulf thinks, a little mournfully, but the last acting class he took was over a year ago. Two weeks to get back on the training wheels before workshop.

With his eyes still closed, he runs a finger along the handle and discovers a small lump where it meets the body.  _ Huh _ . He likes that instantly. It feels like a mistake and that makes it a little cuter, somehow, which is a weird thing to be thinking about a mug at seven in the morning. 

It's a sudden, ticklish brush on his leg that pops his eyes open. 

"Oh no," Gulf groans. "Jub, it takes me like fifteen minutes to get back in —" 

Wait. Was that  _ twenty _ past seven? Gulf stares at the wall clock for a solid four seconds before leaping into motion — where was his phone, his wallet, should he maybe bring a light jacket?? — and nearly runs into mae rushing down the stairs. 

Mae's already holding up his lunchbox. "Just about to call you," she says, smiling.

And thus begins Gulf's first day at  school work on his first major series. Technically, it's not quite "on set" since they're doing a week's worth of half-day orientations and even an interview before starting workshop, but it all falls under Real Professional Actor things, so he looks out the car window and tries to answer mae's questions in an upbeat, totally-not-nervous voice as they crawl through the Bangkok traffic.

He  _ is _ excited. Okay, maybe a little anxious too, but who wouldn't be? 

They get to the parking lot with fifteen minutes to spare, not that Gulf's keeping track the entire time. The parking lot's already half-full. His pulse picks up a beat when he sees a slim pony-tailed woman standing on the corner, wearing a black tee and holding a clipboard in her hand. A few other people in the same style of tee are hauling what looks like camera equipment into the building. None look familiar though.

"Have fun," mae calls out as Gulf pokes his head, then his backpack out of the car. "Don't forget to drink lots of water!" 

Gulf had insisted in the car that he  _ really _ didn't need to be walked, but when he turns to wave goodbye . . . it does hit him.

He takes a breath and starts walking before he can see her pulling away.

Closer up, the white TharnType logo on the tee becomes apparent. The woman is one of the PAs, and she beams at him as she hands him a lanyard with a pass. This is a multi-office building, so he has to sign in with security and go to the third floor. "Welcome nong," she laughs. "It's the star na kha!"

Gulf blushes so fast he's glad the wai hides it. "I'm just grateful for the chance to be here na krub."

The third floor has a large sign saying TharnType in the same big bold letters. He spots P'Mame almost immediately, looking like she's on her third Red Bull and chatting animatedly to a few people he vaguely recognizes from auditions.  _ Busy _ , her posture says, so he stands a little awkwardly at the entrance, not sure what to do. Not a minute later though she notices him and her face creases into a huge grin, arm pumping in a rigorous wave. 

"There's a few of you guys here already," she says. "We'll do intro rounds soon so everyone will get to know everyone's roles, but why don't you grab a t-shirt and get some breakfast? It's in the lounge down the hall and to the right, we order from this  _ great _ bakery off the corner."

The t-shirt is a little stiff but fits pretty well. That's a pleasant surprise; Gulf's on the long and lean side so most tend to cut off a little short or are so comically oversized he looks like a 14-year-old trying to look tough. For a second he debates taking a selfie in the bathroom (P'Berm keeps telling him to take more pics for social, preferably at least  _ some _ not in a football kit), but figures there'll be plenty of photos coming out over the week so he heads out to do a bit of floor-exploring instead. 

He's barely out the door when he bumps into a familiar figure.

"K-Khun Jack!" Stammering. 

The flash of surprise on Jack's handsome face passes swiftly. The man straightens and gives a nod, a little rigidly but the smile on his face doesn't seem to contain any irritation at least, just the usual courtesy. A knot in Gulf's chest loosens, ever so slightly.

"Sawadee krub, N'Gulf. Please call me phi, no need for the formality. I think I'm only a few years older than you." 

"Of course, phi." Gulf tries to put some pep in his smile. "It's good to see you."

He's not intimidated. He's not. (Well, it's okay if he is, this is his much more experienced phi after all, and Gulf hasn't exactly  _ impressed _ him so far. He didn't get the chance to talk to Jack at the photoshoot because he'd been so busy trying to find one of the other actors, but from what he can remember nothing about the man's air of annoyance lightened up after finding out it was his upcoming co-star who'd spilled on him instead of some klutzy stranger.)

So. Not exactly the best first impression. Gulf has to fight to keep the wince from showing on his face.

Jack's the one who breaks the pause though, and his voice is friendly. "Same, it's good to see you nong. This week's going to be fun, isn't it? I'm looking forward."

"Shai. I'm looking forward too krub."

"We should grab a lunch sometime," Jack says. He waits for Gulf's nod before he adds, "I wanted to mention by the way, I'm sorry if I was a little harsh to you last week. You know, with the coffee."

"Oh!" That sidestep catches Gulf off guard, but he recovers quickly, steadying his smile. "No, it's no worries at all phi. That was my fault for not looking properly."

Jack gives him a considering look. "Well, I was too sharp in any case. What I was thinking though, is that it's these kinds of details that are important. All of our wardrobe comes from props. You have to be extra careful on set because ruining one shirt like that, if there's no replacement might stall the entire day."

_ The entire day. _

_ I don't _ —  _ no. _ Gulf halts the rush of thoughts in its tracks.  _ He's right. _ What if that  _ was _ the one outfit they had for a shoot? He'd be messing up everyone's schedule. Everyone's.

Heat, rising in his cheeks. "I completely understand. I'm very sorry krub."

"We're all guilty of a little sloppiness in our regular lives, but if you want to be an actor it's unprofessional."

_ Unprofessional _ . 

That's . . . 

The word rings in his ears. Keeps ringing. It's like he's been dunked in an ice bath, the lever pulled out of nowhere. His whole body feels cold.

But he tries to let the word sink in. A tiny murmur in the back of his head goes — _(harsh)_ — but he pushes back on it. It's not harsh, it's the _constructive criticism_ thing P'Berm's been telling him about, isn't it? Doesn't Gulf want to become a real actor? Then it's true, he has to get much, much better about these things. It's not just about his acting talent, it's about how he conducts himself on set. What his coworkers think of him.

He'd skimmed the crew list earlier in the email. There are over sixty people here, and they're all counting on him to do his best. 

No time for amateur hour. Gulf is  _ not _ going to screw up his first job. 

"Krub. I understand."

Jack clears his throat. "I understand this is your first series," he says, a little more kindly. "There's a lot of things you only learn once you're on the job, so I get it."

"Krub," Gulf murmurs, lowering his eyes. There's a little stiffness in his tongue for some reason, making it hard to talk firmly.

The pat the other man gives on his arm is light, reassuring. He has cool hands.

"As your phi, l'll try to do my best to help."

***

He forgot the sweater.

It's when he sees Mew in the orientation room that he realizes there WAS something he'd forgotten in his hurried scramble out the door this morning. 

_ "Shia,"  _ Gulf whispers under his breath. The man hasn't caught sight of him yet, he's laughing at something the man next to him is saying while arranging his jacket on the back of his chair. 

Great. What's Mew going to think? 'Oh, I literally gave the shirt off my back to some kid _ who went and completely forgot about it'?  _

It's like P'Jack said: Gulf  _ is _ careless. And that was genuinely — just — a  _ really nice thing _ — 

Gulf bites his lip. Feels it sting. 

Something no one's ever done for him before, much less a complete stranger. 

But what do you know, Gulf thinks. Remember what the casting assistant said? How do you even  _ know _ the man was being nice?

_ What else do you think he was doing,  _ another voice drawls, from some other, far-off place.  _ Playing the long con for your kidney? _

Gulf hunches down a little in his seat and peeks at the man out of the corner of his eye. Whatever rumors might be attached to him, Mew Suppasit seems to be in a good mood. His hair is a little different from casting day, now back to black and cut straight and blunt like a uni student. He looks older, less boyband-y, more like a regular good-looking dude you might pass by in the mall with a smoothie in one hand and a girlfriend in the other. 

Gulf stares at his ham-and-cheese croissant, thinking. Maybe Mew doesn't even remember the sweater. Or maybe they won't even bump into each other with sixty-plus people here. Still — it doesn't seem right to try to avoid him, or pretend the whole thing never happened. Gulf should still come out and apologize.

"Sawadee krub. I'm Boat, nice to meet you." 

The voice that lurches Gulf out of his musing is polite. It belongs to a slender, fair-skinned young man, who's pulling up the seat next to him with a friendly smile and a plate piled high with fruit. "You're the actor playing Type, right?"

At Gulf's smile and nod, the man immediately shakes his head, making a motion to get up. "I should let P'Jack sit here then."

"No, no, it's totally okay," Gulf says hurriedly, gesturing him back down with both hands. "I think P'Jack is . . ." A quick scan of the room. "Yes, there he is. He already has a seat krub." In fact, he has an audience. There are a few people crowded around his table now, giggling and looking rather excited as the actor appears to be signing something on his table with a dramatic flourish.

"You have a famous partner," Boat observes in an amused voice, just as the executive producer goes up to the front, beckoning P'Tee up alongside him. The whole room sorts itself into order with impressive speed. A burst of clapping. P'Mame comes up and does a slightly misty intro about how long she's hoped for this, then passes the baton to two ladies who turn out to be the script supervisor and assistant writer. Lots of cheering and 'susu na's. 

Gulf leans forward and tries to clear his head to concentrate. The earlier he can jot down their names and faces in memory, the better. He's not great with names, but P'Berm had said it'd be useful for making a good first impression. 

Intro rounds around the room now. Gulf gets a little cheer when he stands up and says his name and age and expresses his hope for an amazing show, and when he sits back down, the pixie-cut woman to his right leans in with an awed "wow, you're so young nong!" and that sparks a small round of friendly greetings at their table. 

_ Everyone seems super nice _ , he texts in the family Line chat. Grace sends a frog sticker with its thumb and tongue sticking out.

The morning actually passes by rather quickly. People get up and break off into groups to introduce themselves and chitchat, but the buzz of the room soon fades away into a distant hum as Gulf gets caught up in his own bubble. There's a bewildering number of contracts to read and sign (he  _ really _ hopes that injury one is just standard operating procedure), including one intimacy contract that makes his eyes widen and start texting his manager with screenshots. He's thought a lot about this and mentally readied himself to do a whole bunch of kissing and NC scenes, as many as they'll ask him to do, but it's still well,  _ something _ to see it laid out so clinically — zones where they might ask him to show skin, zones where they can't. Zones where Jack won't be allowed to touch, which is actually a bit more extensive than Gulf thought. So that's a small comfort.

No nude shots below the waist, obviously, but above the waist is fair game. There's going to be at least one shower scene apparently, which Gulf expected but still makes him go a bit pink. He's not body-shy or ashamed of anything (sure, Gulf wouldn't mind getting rid of the braces someday and he still gets the occasional rash of acne that sucks, but his height! he  _ likes _ being tall, and being lanky's fine too) but he's not that casual about it either. He doesn't even go shirtless after games like a lot of his teammates do, just because it's weird to have everyone and their sisters looking.

_ Well, looks like all of them are going to see me now,  _ a dry voice in him muses. He can't imagine what they'll think. Shy Kanawut Traipipattanapong, who has his own corner in the locker room and has a known preference for solo-showering (they're just so loud and  _ crowded) _ , stripping it all off and getting it on with a guy on TV. Gulf's lucky he's not in high school anymore, though no doubt the texts will be incoming. There were plenty of guys who thought he was gay anyways.

The AD calls for lunch just as he's starting to draw up a list of the Y-series that might be good references on what to expect. Lunch isn't catered, so Gulf digs around in his backpack for the lunchbox mae packed him — it's still warm and even has a sticky note on top saying 'good luck', which brings up a  _ geez mae _ and a helpless smile — when a shadow falls over his table.

"Hey."

Mew's small wave looks almost shy. His grin though is easy and perky, and it only widens when Gulf sees him. "It's good to see you again, Khun Gulf."

"Oh!" Gulf's fingers slip on the lunchbox in his haste to stand up in a vigorous wai. "Yes. It's so good to see you got the part krub."

When he finally gazes up he can feel the back of his ears warming, which is weird — they're not complete strangers, and Mew  _ has _ been perfectly friendly to him. 

Out of some dim distant pool in his memory, the casting assistant's words bob back up to him: __

_ Khun Mew . . . he has bad rumors. _

Why would they say that? Part of Gulf — the curious, never-been-in-actual-danger sheltered suburban schoolkid part — wants to peer in, take a closer look. But even closer up in the new light, the man just looks . . . normal. Maybe even more normal-looking now with the regular old black hair and black tee, if still ridiculously good-looking. Is he really some sort of secret bad guy?

_ You're not exactly the most streetwise 21-year-old on the block though, _ Gulf thinks. 

But focus _. _ He'd thought about it after casting day: he  _ should _ be trying to treat every coworker the same, except maybe Jack since they have to be a couple. He  _ should _ be trying to get on good terms with everyone, while remembering this is all part of work and Being An Adult. 

Whoever Mew is, Gulf isn't here to make enemies. Or friends, for that matter. 

"Shai. San was the one I wanted, so it all worked out." Mew's cheerful voice comes through loud and clear despite the hectic buzz of the room, with everyone sorting out lunch plans. A curious look comes to his face now as he scratches his hair, directing a nod to the mess of papers on Gulf's table. 

"How are you holding up?  _ That _ stack looks like some paperwork and a half."

"It is," Gulf replies, a little awkwardly. If Mew wants small talk, he picked the wrong table. But Gulf had better come up with something to be polite, so he goes on, "I'm making my way through it. Just trying to be extra thorough, jot down questions for my manager along the way and stuff. So it's been a bit slow but I'm getting there krub."

"Take a break," the other actor suggests lightly. "It's important to rest your eyes, right?"

"Krub," Gulf says. "But I feel like when I take my eyes off, it multiplies."

That prompts a chuckle: low, warm. "The paperwork's all in on it. This whole industry's a conspiracy to train you into a contract lawyer."

Ha. "Not sure that's what I dreamed of as a kid, but I'll take it."

"No? I'll have you know that charging billing hours was my childhood fantasy," Mew bats back, pulling a mournful face. "I sent a cease-and-desist to my sister for taking up the bathroom one time."

Gulf can't help but duck his head, feeling the smile tug at his mouth. He can hear Grace's smirking voice in his head right now:  _ this one's a charmer.  _ Girls (Grace not implied, obviously, she of the superior heterodox taste) must be all over him.

"In any case," the man shrugs, still cheerful, "If you want some fresh air, I'm grabbing lunch with a couple of the other cast members. We're thinking of checking out the Cantonese place down the street, apparently they still have dim sum at this hour — "

"Nong!" Gulf whirls around at the call. He's not sure how he knows it's him but well, he  _ is _ one of the youngest, though it's more about the way it's said, a little coaxingly, like the way he calls for Jub. 

A middle-aged, spectacled woman he remembers putting down in his head as the set designer is waving from the door. "Nong, would you like to grab some boba? Some of the other girls and I are going to drop by one of the sets if we have time too, since the school's right by here."

"Ah," Gulf flusters, glancing at Mew.

What should he do? He appreciates both the offers but to be honest, the biggest part of him just wants to sit here and keep working. There's a  _ lot _ to go through, and he already has mae's lunch, and he's not a boba person either. Maybe it'd be better to save that money. He has an allowance mae made him take just in case he needed anything, but he'd rather not spend it if he can.

He's also just remembered that sweater thing. 

The little pressure on his palm's his fingertips, digging in. Gulf gazes at the blank space beyond the table, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Right. The man's right here. He should get this over with.

A gentle knock on the table. "Go ahead," Mew says, motioning towards her. 

"Um," Gulf says, softly. "Um, phi, I have to mention — " 

But Mew's already heading for the door before Gulf can blurt it out.

***

The set designer's name is P'Fah, and she reminds Gulf of his econ professor: straight-backed, serious-faced, but fair, someone with firm standards and an expectation they'll meet it. She insists on buying the boba for everyone. Her skinny assistant P'Ploy works on props and has a neck tattoo and a playful slyness to her smile that reminds Gulf of a slinky cat. The two junior PAs, Noi and Fern, are only a few years older than Gulf, and they're a little shy but very nice; they help Gulf decide on a boba (a purply taro milk tea — a little sweet, but good). They seem to worship P'Fah, or at least can't jump to join her fast enough when she suggests checking out the set. 

It's a nice exchange. Gulf begs leave though since he still has his lunch back in the building, and secretly he's flagging after so much wai'ing and variants of "nice to meet you" "very excited for the series krub" this morning. There are only so many ways to express one's excitement, apparently, and they're all like the tiny battery drain on his phone from just being on: not that bad and then suddenly too much.

Just as he's crossing the street with P'Ploy back to the office though, he sees him: 

Jack, standing in the shade of a tree at the end of the sidewalk. He's typing on his phone, looking unrushed as a stream of passersby step around him.

"Oh, is that N'Jack? You should go say hi." P'Ploy, twisting her neck to peer around Gulf.

"Krub." Gulf pauses uncertainly, twisting his straw. "He looks busy though. And I'm sure we'll get many more chances to talk more later . . . ?"

"But getting alone time's the hard part," P'Ploy's voice drops, in the sort of wise-older-woman voice Gulf suspects he's heard many a time from his aunts. "You two will be busy all week, especially with so many of us around. I'd just go over and say hi, have a little one-on-one before they drag us back in."

_ Just go over and say hi _ . 

It sounds so much like mae. For a split second, Gulf's back in fourth grade, back by the fence of their local playground where he would just . . . hang out, scrape chalk into the asphalt with his shoe. Watch the other kids, without having to be seen. Without having to talk.

_ Just go over and say hi _ . That's the way he liked it though. He didn't mind being alone. He was a loner kid. He didn't  _ want _ to go over and beg entrance into whatever world it was that other kids live in.

_ But this is the real world now, kid. You can't just sit there if you want to get anywhere. _ Funny. It's not quite his manager's words, but it's P'Berm's gruff, though-not-unkind voice that says them in Gulf's head.

It  _ is _ true though. Gulf  _ has _ to put an effort: he can't just sit there and expect people to come to him like a cute kitten waiting to be picked up and adored. He's not Jub. Jack's the one he really needs to develop some semblance of a good relationship with, and, well . . . 

Gulf nearly spills boba on his hand wai'ing goodbye to P'Ploy, but manages to cross the street with a minimum of embarrassment. Perfect.

Even in the standard-issue TharnType tee, his co-star gives off a dressed-up, sophisticated vibe. Jack's hair is stylish in the sleek undercut and the sunglasses propped on top makes him look like a movie star. He's tapping briskly on his phone, biceps very visible and Gulf approaches trying not to feel like a fan tiptoeing up for an autograph.

"Phi." He tries to make it more smiley than timid.

Jack doesn't look up. 

"If you're looking — oh." 

And now he's seen Gulf. The expression on his face shifts from neutral to at least something vaguely friendly, if not super enthusiastic, and Gulf lets out a breath. "Nong. Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Oh! Sorry. I was just — grabbing boba in the area, saw you on my way back so I thought I'd say hi. Sorry if I bothered you though —"

"Yeah, I was just talking to my agent." Jack's head shake doesn't budge his shades. "Don't worry, it was nothing important. It looks like I won't be able to make most of the intro days now though. I'll be back for the last one though and we can go over the interview questions then if that's okay."

"That sounds perfect. Thank you phi," Gulf says quickly. Jack has a celebrity's schedule, of course; it's nice of him already to be willing to spend the time to walk Gulf through the interview. It would've been nice if they had time together this intro week but it's almost all voluntary for a reason, it's really not that important or fascinating except to utter newbies like Gulf, so — yeah. They'll have plenty of time during workshop anyways.

"Yeah, I've done a few of these TEPclusives before so I'll tell you more about it when we get the chance later today." Jack's glance looks distracted, skimming the horizon before it snags on Gulf's hand. His brow inches up. "They got you on the boba train?"

"Um — yes? We were just at the cafe back there." Gulf blinks at him, holding the cup up a little. He's not sure what could possibly be wrong with his drink, except maybe the fact it's purply and cost 80 baht which is mildly horrifying, but Jack continues.

"Sugar's no good, honestly. I'd swear off simple carbs for the next few months. Had to do that for my last two series. You want this" — he indicates his abs, which somehow look hilariously rock-hard even through the shirt — "flat, you know? At least by the time we're filming the shirtless scenes."

"Ah." Gulf's nod is admittedly weak. 

He's not . . . it's just not something he's ever thought of. Maybe it's because he's young and always played football but he's never thought about what he eats and the word  _ diet _ feels about as far-off a concept as a bikini wax. Sure, sometimes he'll glance at one of those fitness magazines while in the grocery line and admire the ridiculous muscles of the guy on their cover, but he's never fantasized about  _ being _ one of them. That'd be like Jub trying to turn into a tiger. They're like different species — one whose natural habitat is the gym versus one that, well, has a favorite couch  _ and _ a favorite pillow.

"Thank you for the advice krub." Softly, because it looks like Jack is expecting a response. 

Jack's nod has substantially more decisiveness behind it. "I can send you the name of my trainer if you're interested." 

Gulf makes a vague amenable-to-this sound.

"He's really good. I'm not sure if he works with beginners, but everyone at the gym's top-class. Some of them even work with Olympians."

Inwardly, Gulf thinks that sounds expensive _. _ Outwardly, he tries to shape the muscles in his face into some form of respectably bright smile. "That sounds great krub. I'll, um, I'll just throw this away —"

"Wait." 

Gulf does  _ not _ flinch. He's more on the ambling-turtle than twitchy-rabbit end of things, and his limbs take their time to commit to things. But the word freezes him mid-step, wide-eyed. 

He doesn't expect the grip on his wrist. Or the tug. That's how Gulf nearly stumbles into the solid wall that happens to be Jack's back, but he catches himself just in time to steady himself on the man's hard shoulder. Jack's other arm reaches up and out, angling the iphone above them. It takes Gulf a second to realize what he's doing.

"Let's do an Insta pic. If you're cool with it?"

"I — sure. Sounds good krub." It comes out so faint Gulf has to try again. He peers into the phone screen and tries to make a happy, definitely-not-uncomfortable shape with his mouth.

Good thing Gulf is an actor.

A man's hand really is . . . rough. Heavy. This close, Gulf can feel the electric tingle that's his skin lit up with a far-too-great awareness of exactly where they're touching — where Jack's pressing his arm against his, all muscle and immovable, coiled strength — or where they're millimeters away from touching. It's not like sparks though, more like magnets. Like every atom in him wants to push away. 

He forces it. The smile too. 

"Here, hunch a little lower, by my ear. Yup! Hold . . . right . . . there."

Jack's thumbing through the filters. A moment later, a pair of little wagging panda ears appear on top of Gulf's head, and rosy-pink circles on his cheeks. He's cute. They're cute. 

"Good to step up the social," Jack says with a brief look up and smile. "I'd start getting more active on Insta. That and Twitter, if you don't have one yet." He tags Gulf in it.

_ Look at this cute nong I found today, _ the caption says.

***

Gulf . . . doesn't do people at the best of times.

But.

This is a problem.

He is actively uncomfortable touching Jack. 

Or, more accurately, with touching guys in general. (Or, if you wanted to get  _ really _ accurate, with touching people in general, because it's not like Gulf is mister experienced with girls either. Still. He's not being asked to hold hands and not look like he's being held hostage with a  _ girl _ .)

Which is why he's staring at a giant list of Y series now. 

At least  _ some _ of them have got to have good examples of guy-on-guy skinship. Most of their covers have them happily perched on each other or gazing at each other like a cute schoolyard crush. Or maybe he should ask P'Tee; the director's got to have his own references in mind, right? Gulf scribbles in the todo sheet of the notebook. He should still watch Jack's previous series though, just to be able to compare himself against his previous partners. See if they're doing something right that he isn't.

The lobby has the clean airy vibe of a large-chain hotel, the sort they hold corporate conventions in. He'd padded out here because the bright light in the orientation room  _ was _ making his eyes kind of blurry, but mostly to yawn somewhere in private. This is usually around the time he finds some sunny nook in his house or the park near his school to curl up into his afternoon nap, but there's no way he's letting himself sleep before the end of even day one. That's how he ends up on a cold marble bench by the cube of ferns in the corner, mouthing the rim of his fifth water bottle to try to stave off the carb coma.

Most of them headed out for break earlier, so the floor's quiet. A growing clamor is starting to filter through from the direction of the elevators now though, so Gulf glances around the pillar. There are a few groups of recognizable faces trickling in, swinging 7-11 bags and laughing. They look in high spirits.

Gulf gives a wan smile to the notebook in his lap. Yeah. He knows he  _ should _ be making an effort to go out there and socialize, but there's just so much he wants to read up on and start practicing. And after that total misread with Jack — hugely obvious now that phi didn't appreciate the interruption, even if he was polite enough not to snap at him — Gulf would rather just . . . lay low for a minute. Not mess anything else up.

He swallows back the sigh. The advice phi is giving him is good, he's clearly trying to mentor from experience. Gulf should be grateful.

Then he blinks, because all of sudden there's a pouch with a mango on it in front of his vision. 

"Want one?" It's Mew, smiling. "We bought a bunch of these."

"Ahh," Gulf hands move automatically in a polite no before he even registers the label, but the demure smile slips out easy. "Thank you krub. It's ok, I'm still feeling full from lunch."

"That sounds good. Did you guys go out?"

"Ah, no. Well, my mae already packed me lunch, so I just needed a microwave." It does sound a little childish now that he says it out loud though. 

"Lucky," the other actor says, sounding genuine about it. He holds up his 7-11 bag. "I usually pack my own lunches too. Then I get an excuse to eat out and fall off the wagon, and it becomes convenience-store sushi for five days."

Gulf dips his head shyly. It's actually hard to see Mew eating like a college student, but maybe: he seems the bachelor type. "I've never had 7-11 sushi."

"You're missing out," Mew promises. "Get it on Fridays though, that's when they restock. Not sure I'd recommend the Monday sashimi, unless you like a little walk on the wild side."

Explaining that he's allergic to seafood feels a little overcomplicated/personal in a way he doubts Mew will be interested in, so Gulf just nods. Mew seems to be in a talkative mood though, if he's standing here chatting to Gulf while people are already streaming past them back to the orientation room. 

Like he had this morning, when he came by Gulf's table. Gulf bites his lip. It has to be the sweater, honestly. Why else would he be trying to talk to Gulf? The man seems like the type who'd be much too polite to bring it up himself, but he clearly wants to speak to him.

_Gah._ _Don't be so wimpy, Gulf._ He just . . . hates the thought of yet another phi thinking how careless he is, someone who'd take and discard another person's good deed so easily. The sweater _was_ a super nice thing Mew didn't have to do at all, and Gulf — Gulf completely forgot about it. 

_ It's these kinds of details that are important.  _ It's Jack's admonishment in his head that finally makes him get up, pressing the notebook to his chest. "Um, phi, I —"

"Did you catch a break nong?" One of the young PAs is coming down the hall, and she's looking straight at Gulf. 

"Um, yes — "

"Perfect! Just wanted to make sure everyone's got their bathroom break in," she beams. "If you don't mind coming inside, we're about to get started again."

Gulf shares a small glance with Mew, who smiles graciously and gestures for Gulf to lead the way. Looks like next time, he has to stop dawdling on the ball.

***

He almost misses him.

They're wrapping up day one and Jack is telling him about the interview they're going to do next week (it's a little intimidating in Gulf's opinion, but Jack says it'll be fine, they can vet the questions beforehand and "it won't even be released for months") when Gulf sees him: Mew, backpack slung over his shoulder, chatting with one of the lighting crew beside him as they head for the elevators. He's amusingly tall next to a normal-sized person, having to cut the length of his stride to match her pace. 

No time. Gulf quickly excuses himself, apologizing in deep wais to Jack as he rushes out. He just misses their elevator but manages the next one, catching up just as the man's leaving the building.

"Phi!"

Mew's eyes widen in surprise when he sees Gulf, but he stops in his tracks. "Khun Gulf?"

Gulf takes a second to catch his breath, wiping his palms on his jeans. The heat wave from the door opening hits him at full blast. He's suddenly shy again. What if Mew had a thing to get to? Was it that important he had to chase the man down? 

"What is it?" A concerned note is in Mew's voice now; he steps closer, shifting the backpack as if meaning to put it down, but Gulf shakes his head.

"Sorry, nothing," Gulf says, flushing. "Um. I just wanted to mention — sorry for forgetting to bring your sweater. I meant to, but totally forgot on my way out this morning."

Mew looks confused. "What do you mean?"

Oh. 

Oops.

"The sweater you lent me," Gulf explains, haltingly, with a useless gesture at his own tee. He can feel the blush spreading on his cheeks as Mew blinks politely at him, clearly having no idea of what he's talking about. 

_ Shia. Why did you even think . . .? _

He swallows. "I just mean from casting day. In the bathroom. I had the stain on mine, so you let me borrow yours . . ?"

"Ahh I see," Mew says, leaning back on his heels. There's a small, bemused flicker of a smile in his gaze as he regards Gulf. "I remember now, it's completely fine krub. It's just a sweater, I'm in no rush to get it back. If anything, I assumed I wouldn't."

"Oh! Seriously? Did you not expect to get the part? I mean, I tried to look for you after the photoshoot and couldn't find you, but then they told me you'd probably get casted . . ."

Mew's face shifts from surprised to thoughtful. "They didn't tell me anything, actually. I definitely didn't think I'd gotten the part since it was radio silence up until a few days ago. I wonder why . . ." Then he shrugs, re-adjusting his strap. "In any case, just goes to show how much it'd slipped my mind, right? So don't worry about it."

"I — right. Sorry. I just feel terrible about it," Gulf murmurs, twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt. 

The last part was so under his breath he assumed Mew didn't hear, but apparently the man does, because his head cocks, and a curious look comes to his dark eyes. "Why's that?"

"Um — "  _ Shia _ . Gulf keeps messing this up. If Mew didn't think he was weird before, he definitely thinks so now. It's like the man said — it's just a sweater, no big deal, he wasn't even thinking about it. Probably does it all the time, for all Gulf knows. The  _ good samaritan sweater-giver _ , just going around rescuing clumsy strangers in distress.

Why did Gulf even think he'd remember it?

_ It's just a sweater, dummy. _

"Sorry. It's just — I'm like a stranger and that was a very nice thing to do and I don't want you to think I was being totally thoughtless and forgot about it and everything. I didn't forget, I even washed it krub. Though — I mean, if that's okay of course, I swear it hasn't shrunk or anything, I didn't use the dryer — "

Mew is silent.

Gulf stops. Takes a breath. "So. Um. All I mean to say is, I know my memory's not great, but I'm working on it. I'll be much more attentive about these things next time, I promise."

"Okay," Mew says, slowly. 

Gulf flinches inside: there's an awkward charge in the air, like Mew doesn't quite get what he's meaning to say. Which is utterly appropriate because Gulf doesn't know what he wants to say either, and really all he wants to do now is shuffle off the earth if he doesn't die of embarrassment first.

He clears his throat. "Anyways, I'll definitely bring it first thing tomorrow krub." And wai's from the waist, backing away.

"Hey," Mew says.

Gulf freezes.

"I appreciate it," Mew says, gently, and Gulf steps away with his pulse burning rocket fuel in his ears. 

No wonder the man is such a good actor. There's something in his eyes that almost looks like real concern, not just obligatory politeness. Like he actually  _ cares _ about Gulf, or is even worried about him for some reason. That can't be right though: Mew's nice, but no one's  _ that _ nice. 

There's only so much someone can care about a total stranger.

***

Damn.

Mew watches the kid leave, long legs disappearing him back in the building quick even with that odd, lopsided, weirdly-endearing gait of his. 

He's not  _ worried _ . The kid is young, but he's here, he's a grown adult, Mew's sure he can take care of himself. 

It's just . . .  _ his eyes _ , Mew thinks. 

They'd looked so uncertain, searching Mew everywhere except his face, like Chopper's had when Mew had first met the sullen pup no one else wanted: nervous, wary, but trying so, so hard not to show it. Like he was sure Mew wasn't going to react well to him. Like he didn't know if he had to prepare himself for the worst.

The thing is, Mew has a bad feeling he knows what happened. 

"Fuck. Maybe I should've just said something. . ." 

Or not. He sighs. What is he even doing, muttering to the air?

The kid had been okay back at casting day, he's sure of that. Gulf Kanawut is clearly shy, the kind of person that's always holding something back in reserve but the flip side of that reservedness is a pretty damn impressive level of maturity: he seems to actually  _ listen _ before he speaks, for one, a trait Mew can admit he definitely wasn't the greatest at at his age. And the boy's modest, obviously, but not so lacking in self-esteem he's not aware of his own talent. Certainly he managed to rise to the challenge during auditions: Mew knows he went  _ hard _ that day and hell if the kid didn't step up to the plate.

It was impressive. Enough to make Mew remember the name. Remember the face. 

No. Mew slams shut that door, wherever that thought was straying. That's a dumb thought; it's just his usual tic of never forgetting faces. There's no way Mew's letting himself even  _ think _ about the possibility of ever acting with the kid — at most, he was getting P'San as a role, and even if Gulf deserved Type the industry's crazy enough that even the most meteoric talents don't get what they deserve. Even though he did get it, thankfully, the industry's so big it'd be sheer chance if they ever bumped into each other again.

Point was though, a week ago his first impression of Gulf Kanawut was that he's a talent. And maybe new and young, but not the delicate type who'd wilt under pressure.

Not the usual pressure though. Mew didn't mean to but he'd accidentally overheard them this morning: Gulf's co-star lecturing him about being careless and unprofessional, as if spilling coffee on someone was a Class A felony. Apparently, the guy Gulf had spilled on at casting day was his own co-lead. 

And he was still pissy about it. 

Mew knows he's sharp-tongued himself but personally? That was just  _ completely unwarranted _ . Making a judgment about a person you'd barely met for five seconds, much less a young nong who obviously just wants to do his best: that's not the honest-but-fair advice of a mentor, that's just a  _ dickhead move _ . 

His jaw's tensed up. He has to close his eyes for a sec. 

And calm down. He has to remember that he doesn't know Jack. Never met him outside that one time at Kazz Awards, which was brief and corporate. His impression of the man may not be great so far, but isn't Mew often too quick to judge himself? 

_ (That temper of yours, it'll be your undoing.) _

The fact was though, it'd clearly messed the kid up. At least shook his confidence and made him anxious Mew was about to bite his head off for a simple mistake. That's why Mew had kept trying to get the chance to talk to him today — not reveal he'd overheard them or anything, but at least check in on how the kid was doing. It's weird how he almost feels an obligation there, as if their fifteen minutes of contact back at auditions now means some kind of forever-bond. 

Sigh. 

_ You promised, idiot. _

Mew — can  _ not _ afford to get involved. He has to stay away. For the kid's sake, if not Mew's. It's better if he doesn't get him wrapped up in shit. And it's not like he needs Mew in any case. He may be young and quiet but he's still a grown man, Jack's his phi and Jack will come good. 

He'll be fine.

Mew glances down at his phone. 

"Looks like it." 

Yeah, they'll be fine. On his instagram feed, the pic's just popped up: Gulf and Jack, both peering up at the camera with photogenic, couple-in-a-BL-series smiles. They're cute together. Gulf's eyes are a stunner. 

"Cute," Mew mutters, and closes his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- In between work+life stuff and the general deterioration of my country (I live in the US... yeah), I REALLY struggled with this chapter. I'm still not happy with it but I literally rewrote it four times and threw out some 20k words and somehow this chapter STILL kept growing and growing until I finally cut it in half! There were a BUNCH of cute scenes that I cut out/saved for later because I wanted a bumpier road/slower burn at the start :( So apologies for the massive delay but the next chapter should come out pretty soon :pray:
> 
> \- I'll go into it more later, but I did a ton of reading and quora-sleuthing on acting methodologies (with the excuse of "research" for this fic lmao), namely the Strasberg (he of "method acting" fame), Stanislavski, and Meisner schools plus some random current ones like Heller on youtube — I've just always been fascinated by how actors learn how to act and what distinguishes good vs bad acting, and I think it'd be really interesting if Gulf and Mew come from different styles that might not be intuitively obvious at first glance. For example, the sense memory exercise that Gulf does with the coffee mug is a very common, fundamental exercise in Strasberg's method acting (https://kylejerichow.com/2020/05/21/method-acting-foundation-breakfast-drink-exercise/, heavy duty explainer here: https://www.academia.edu/36999637/The_Method_Acting_Exercises_Handbook_pdf). But method acting is a very emotional, psychological, *feelings*-driven approach to acting (https://www.quora.com/What-is-method-acting) — while Gulf often says he is not an emotional type of person, or at least not the kind to express it. I do feel that his acting style though WOULD totally try to channel Type's "real" experience, to try to actually BE Type and evoke that emotion for real. Mew meanwhile may be more openly emotional as a person, but I can see mister PhD brain taking a more logical, methodical approach to his acting. 
> 
> \- I was going to start with workshop, but then I realized the TEPclusives interview suggests there was this whole 2-3 week period prior to workshop so I came up with this orientation "pre period" to fill it. I have no idea how this actually goes or what life on set is like though, so massive suspension of disbelief is appreciated.


End file.
